Page 11 of Fundamentals in Flirting

“But I don’t give him very much as it is, do I, darling?” Mrs Ryan crooned at her dog, her slight side-eye in my direction alerting me to yet more animosity.

I considered the old lady in front of me carefully. It was quite clear that she did give this dog too much food and too little exercise, but how to broach this in a sensitive and tactful way? This was the most difficult thing about my job, and something that I struggled with every day. Plus, I was probably already on the back foot with my anxiety comment, so this might be a case of too little too late.

Shit.

“You must be feeding him the wrong type of food then. Have you been sticking to the prescription diet I ordered for you?”

“Oh, Bentley won’t eat that awful stuff, Dr Havens. It smells like old socks!”

“Right.” I knew I was fighting a losing battle here. “How about we try a bit longer with it, and don’t give him anything else if he doesn’t eat it?”

“Let him starve?”

She was horrified, which suggested to me that she was giving him all sorts of other things rather than the light dog food he was supposed to be eating.

“We could try a different brand.”

“Well…” Her resistance was palpable, her demeanour most definitely a bit put out.

“There are other flavours to try – turkey, perhaps?” I suggested, starting to feel a bit desperate here.

“We could do, I suppose,” Mrs Ryan begrudgingly agreed, and I decided to leap on this small concession.

“Excellent. I’ll look up some alternatives and ask Betsy, our brilliant veterinary nurse, to get some in. You’ll need to bring him to her weigh-in clinic once a month to see how he’s doing. It’s important that you bring him along, Mrs Ryan, no excuses. It’s his health at stake here.” There. A healthy dose of owner guilt should help things along.

Mrs Ryan looked doubtful, but I was already ushering her out of the consulting room. She was my last client in this evening’s surgery and I was ready for my dinner and a sit down after a very busy day.

“Ok. Well, if you’re sure?”

“Yes, totally sure. We’ll be in touch, and make sure you keep his ball with you!” I replied brightly, rearranging my face into what I hoped was a genuine smile, and promptly closed the door behind her.

I typed up Bentley’s notes and shut the computer down, but when the door opened again, my boss and the practice owner, Giles, appeared, standing awkwardly behind the consulting table. A little groan of annoyance accidentally slipped from my mouth and he twitched, looked briefly at me, and then down at the floor, his countenance exhibiting extreme discomfort.

Giles was stout, about my height, and had a crop of thick, unruly greying hair. He was a particularly rosy-cheeked and cheerful individual, and the older female clients loved him. But right now, he looked like he was about to euthanise his favourite labrador. This was bad.

“I’ve just seen Mrs Ryan outside, Hannah.”

“Yes?”

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet again. “She said that you were a bit dismissive of Bentley’s needs. And, um, well, rude…”

Urgh.

I thought I’d tried really hard this time. “I just suggested that she needs to change his diet because as you can see, he is grossly obese.”

Giles sighed and scratched his head. “I know that, and you know that, but to Mrs Ryan, Bentley is her entire world and she doesn’t want to be made to feel as though she’s not doing her best.”

“Right.”

“Plus, telling her that she makes her dog anxious is a bit insensitive,” he said with a wince.

“Got it.”

“Hannah, you are an extremely well-qualified vet and an exceptional clinician, but if you’re going to stay in first-opinion practice, you need to work on your bedside manner.”

Giles was starting to back away from me ever so slightly.

“I see.”

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